“You are late,” she murmured. His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. Wood set off at full speed from the Mint, and, hurrying he scarce knew whither (for there was such a continual buzzing in his ears and dancing in his eyes, as almost to take away the power of reflection), he held on at a brisk pace till his strength completely failed him. I’d only get a pack of lies in reply. “Not a bit of it.
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